


Fatal friends

by Stickandthorn



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate universe - lil bit evil, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Changed the name since I can’t name shit, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It’s not all angst there’s some fluff, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, backstory angst, empire is collapsing, idk how to tag, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:20:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29308680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stickandthorn/pseuds/Stickandthorn
Summary: The Gentleman is aware that The Empire is crumbling around them, faster than they could repair it and the rest of Wildemount might just fall with it. He is also aware of the impending assassination attempts on some of the most powerful figures he knows. So, he has spirited them away to safety in hopes that surround by a wide array of the biggest powers he knows he will be able to build something out of this mess.Or: AU in which all the mighty nein have risen in rank and reputation in their field but haven’tfound happiness, closure, or much of eachother, and all meet when the Gentleman gathers them together as the empire collapses around them. And a lot of them are a bit more evil.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Fjord/Jester Lavorre
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	1. An Unfortunate, fortunate list

**Author's Note:**

> First fic I’ve written since I was like 9, so let’s see how this shit goes. I’ll update tags once I figure more stuff out, lol. No good plan, just ideas

The paper was bloodied and smelling of sweat, covered in stained fingerprints and heavily creased from being hidden in the most unusual of locations. The Gentleman didn’t have to wonder how many people had died to get him this piece of paper, he knew. He had worked tirelessly for it. This list of names was one that would be coveted by many if many knew of its existence. He himself only knew by sheer miracle. It wasn’t complete but it was accurate. These were some of the people to be assassinated in three days' time.  
It didn’t matter exactly by whom, all the groups had blurred together by now. They all had roughly the same effect in the end, bringing down the empire. He shook his head and unfolded the list. He recognized the handwriting and sighed. Tyra had been one of his best operatives, and now he’d have to burn one of the last pieces of her left. But that was no matter, play the shadow game and get the shadow death, and so he focused instead on the list of names. 

~Archmage of Antiquity Caleb Widogast, The Scourge of Wildemount  
~The Martinet Ludinus Da’Leth, Archmage of Domestic Protection  
~Archmage of Civil Influence Trent Ikithon, rumored head of the scourgers  
~Fjord, Plank King of Darktow, Unifier of the Pirates and Favored of the Deep  
~Jester Lavorre, the Sapphire of the Coast, High Priestess of the Traveller and Lady of Jests.  
~Nott the Acidburner, The Little Button and best thief this side of wildemount  
~Dairon, acclaimed Expositor of the Cobalt Soul  
~Beauregard, another acclaimed Expositor of the Cobalt Soul  
~The Orphanmaker, the most feared warlord in southern Xhorhas,  
~Lucien the Mollymawk, blood hunter, nonagon, and slayer of Vess DeRogna  
~King Bertrand and his family  
~The Bright Queen Leylas Kryn  
~Dusk Captain Quana Kryn, general of the aurora watch  
~Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand to the Bright Queen

The Gentleman felt rage begin to boil up in his chest as his fist closed around the paper. He couldn’t believe they would dare to even think about assassinating his daughter! His own flesh and blood! He wished he could drown them in the deep again and again. 

He sighed a long, heavy sigh, and pressed his fingers to his temples. He couldn’t let anger cloud his vision. Think analytically.

It was an odd list. He knew it was drastically incomplete, but some of the people they’d chosen to kill were very… strange. He knew Nott the Acidburner was one of the greatest thieves in, well, anywhere honestly, and was generally wildly underestimated. He’d had a pretty decent working relationship with her in the past. But she wasn’t anyone’s first choice for assasination.  
He could easily see why you’d want to kill Caleb Widogast, the archmage of flames, the man that ripped villages in half and burned countrysides to the ground, but Jester? He knew his Jester was wildly powerful and influential in her own way, but an assasination attempt on her seemed… ludicrous. 

Then again, he might’ve just answered his own questions. Everyone on this list did hold a lot of power and respect in their own way, but most were generally overlooked. Most people would instantly think to assassinate would be the king of the empire, and you wouldn’t give a second thought to a bunch of sea sailing pirates. But, if a whole bunch of those pirates led by someone who was said to have made a deal with a betrayed god had it out for you you might be fucked. 

He also knew a lot of the rumors aroud these idividuals were… interesting. Unique. Dangerous. He could actually see why you’d want them dead.

It honestly spoke to the intelligence of whoever had organized this. And the desire. These people wanted anyone and everyone who could stop them out of the way, no matter how silly or unimportant they seemed. They would cover every base necessary to succeed.

He sighed again. There had been a lot of sighing of late. He couldn’t save all of them, he knew that. He had to be wise with his resources.  
It wasn’t worth it to try and save the king and his family, and to be perfectly frank he didn’t really want to. He didn’t want to save any of the archmages either. But then again, he’d heard some rather interesting rumors about the Archmage of Antiquity, and he was very talented with a flame. And young. Maybe not wholly invested in the Assembly yet?  
He definitely wouldn’t do shit for Trent Ikithon and to be honest, he’d be surprised if there was anyone out there who would. Ludinus… no. He didn’t want to deal with that. Ludinus was too politically tricky to be anything the Gentleman wanted to touch with a ten foot pole.

He didn’t want to save two members of the Cobalt Soul, either. One maybe, but he couldn’t expend resources he didn’t have. Dairon or Beauregard… he wondered why both were on the list. They must’ve done some pretty important stuff he supposed. He’d heard an interesting thing or two about a monk named Beau once, nothing about this Dairon individual. Probably meant that Dairon was the better expositor. But he liked to know things about the people he was working with, so Beauregard it was. 

He frowned over the list again, finger drawing little patterns in the droplets of water dripping off his forehead onto his desk. Obviously he’d save his daughter, no doubts about that. Fjord? He’d love a pirate army on his side, and the rumors about his eldritch pact were rather curious. He frowned at that. A good number of the people currently working to bring down the empire wanted to bring back certain betrayer gods, and some of the rumors did say that it was a betrayer god Fjord had a relationship with. But he was definitely to be assassinated, and maybe a man like that would be good to have on their side. 

And to be honest, the rumors about him reminded The Gentleman a lot of himself. Silver tongued pirate who worked his way up the ranks into criminal success? He’d save him.

Acidburner… yes, she’d be good to have on their side. He’d worked with her before, and she was just as good as rumors said she was. Then, the Orphanmaker and the Mollymawk. Both of them were rather unknowable figures, mysterious and with terrifying nicknames. A bit edgy for his tastes, but they did seem like good allies to have. He’d save them, half out of curiosity to be truly honest. 

As far as Xhorhasian nobles were concerned, he didn’t much care about them. He had his issues in the Empire to think about, and he didn’t much like working with such high ups. Besides, it’d be a stretch for his operatives there. 

Then again… he’d heard some very interesting rumors about young Essek Thelyss. Very interesting indeed. It was a tough decision. He didn’t much like sticking his nose into Xhorhas politics, but the things he’d heard about the young mage did make him think. Bugger it, he’d do it. It would take longer to smuggle him in, even if he accepted, but it might just be worth it.

Picking up his fountain pen he quickly annotated the list.

~Archmage of Antiquity Caleb Widogast, “The Scourge of Wildemount”  
~Fjord, the Plank King of Darktow, Unifier of the Pirates and Favored of the Deep  
~Jester Lavorre, the Sapphire of Nicodranis, High Priestess of the Traveller and Lady of Jests.  
~Nott the Acidburner, the Little Button and best thief of Wildmount  
~Beauregard, another acclaimed Expositor of the Cobalt Soul  
~The Orphanmaker, the most feared warlord of Xhorhas  
~Lucien the Mollymawk, blood hunter, nonagon, and slayer of Vess DeRogna  
~Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand to the Bright Queen

He pulled the burgundy cord hanging over his desk and waited, anxiously tapping his foot against his chair leg. God, he felt like a little kid again, trapped on that god awful boat.

Eric came to answer the door, looking worried. “You’ve got it all sorted then?”  
“Yeah, I do. Get our best people ready and go as quick as you can, we don’t have much time. Usual routes. Prepare the operatives.” He extended his hand holding the note.  
“Right sir.” There was a pause, as Eric very just stood there.  
“Something amiss, Eric?”

The young man sighed, closing the door. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

The Gentleman stared at him, a genteel smile and eyes boring holes into his face. It usually did the trick to make someone squirm, and it was indeed working right now. But then he sighed. He should tell the truth, he had to confront it himself.

“I’m not. It’s actually a pretty bad idea, most of the people on this list are hotheads and bastards who’d probably kill each other on sight out of pure annoyance. But the Empire is doomed, and honestly the rest of Wildemount probably won’t fare much better if these betrayer god cults get their way. We aren’t going to survive without powerful friends, and what better way to make friends than to save them? If all goes well, we’ll be able to leave out the other side of this catastrophe with some of the most powerful friends anyone has ever had, and they will hopefully be able to mitigate a lot of the damages to us.”

Eric nodded, sighing slowly. “You’re right. I’ll get everything under way. You still think Shady Creek is the best place?”  
“Yes. Ophelia has left us some fine material to work with there, and if the town, if you can even call it that, gets destroyed, I know some people in the woods who can help us.” The Gentleman gave the most confident smile he could and chuckled lightly. God, they were fucked.

………………

Jester had been collecting her order of pastries when the message from her father had come. Her face fell more and more as until all twenty-five words had left him, and she responded.  
“Ok dad, I’m on my way! I just have to talk to the traveler real fast and say bye to mama and say bye to-“ she swore as she ran out of words. Her voice was chipper but inside she was reeling. Assasination? Empire collapse? She wasn’t even in the empire! She shook her head, grabbed the flimsy box of donuts and Sally Lunn buns and ran outside. She took a few moments to look a around and then ducked into an alleyway, her green cloaks swishing like leaves of a weeping willow in the wind.

“Arty this is really bad.” She muttered, grabbing a bun out of the box and shoving it in her mouth. Artagan materialized beside her, a martini glass in one hand a cupcake in the other.  
“I heard, it really is troubling. Are you going to go and leave all our followers?” He offered her the cupcake. Red velvet with blueberry frosting. Red and blue, like her and her mama. She smiled and took the sweet.  
“Yeah, I’ll tell them I’m pulling a really big prank. I sort of am! I’m pulling a prank on the person who’s trying to kill me!” Her words came out a little muffled as she swallowed the mouthful of pastry.  
“You would indeed. I’ll sort it with our followers, though your customers might be harder to deal with.” Artagan laughed.  
“They can live without me for a little while. And the alternative is to live without me forever, so….” she bit into the cupcake. It was very good, and helped to quell the rising in panic in her stomach. Reminded her of the one she’d used on her job with Nott. That had been a good time. They’d made a great team and pulled some fabulous pranks. Usually when she worked with her dad’s people they never wanted to pull pranks.  
Artagan nodded. “Let’s go then, he said the operative would be somewhere around here didn’t he? Maybe I can surprise him.”

………………

Veth frowned at the words echoing through her head, flipping a shiny red button like a coin and pacing back and forth. She’d worked with the Gentleman before, but this… this was different. He was probably lying to her. But what did he have to gain from such an absurd story? Assasination of a thief the couldn’t even identify?  
She threw the button across the room where it bounced off a burnished brass vase she’d stolen. 

Maybe she’d see Jester again though. It had been one of her favorite jobs, not least because they’d helped her break her curse as payment. Jester had pulled that marvelous trick with the cupcake and they’d messed with that snobby wine man, it had been good. 

But now this.

The operative would bring proof, he said. She sighed, and ran her fingers through her hair. She still expected claws sometimes. She turned on her heel, walking through her collections in silent contemplation. She could kill him if he was a sham. She could kill him if he wasn’t. Her fingers brushed along a row of stolen canes, making a satisfying rattling sound as they clacked together and made her fingers bump up and down.

Veth sighed, stopping at the little portrait on the wall. It was messy, a crude sketch faded with time in a decadent frame from some long forgotten noble. She brushed her fingers over the roughly drawn faces of her husband and son, and felt tears begin to well up in her eyes, and anger in her chest.

Veth slammed her hand onto the broach in a little brass shell bowl on the table below the portrait. It was a large, dark green emerald surrounded by flower carved from bleak white ivory in a frame of polished gold. She’d like it if it weren’t for who sued to own it. That woman would hate for a grubby little thief to touch her precious items, so she kept it in spite. Spite was a good, strong motivator. The whiskey of emotions.

She’d go, she decided. She’d see the proof, probably rob the guy, and maybe kill him. If this supposed assasination was true, she wasn’t about to die again.

………………

The Archmage Caleb Widogast filled his spell component pouches, his fingers working on deft autopilot. The message had been curious, and there was little debate necessary to decide if he’d go. If there was going to be an assasination attempt on him he’d avoid it, and if there wasn’t and this was a set up, well, he could handle that himself. And then apprehend or kill the poor man for spreading rumors that the empire was on the verge of collapse. It was, but people didn’t need to know that. Master Ikithon would be proud if he did that. 

Shut up, Caleb. He yelled at himself in his head. You’re a fucking archmage now, you don’t need to make him proud. But another voice, one suspiciously like his old teacher’s answered back. He wouldn’t have become an archmage without Master Ikithon’s help. He made him. He made us. He made me.

Caleb shook his head as he put more sulfur in his pocket. Breath in, breath out, remember your job, don’t look back, what’s done is done. It’s necessary, it’s all necessary. Back on track Caleb, you have work to do. For the empire. For what’s left of it.

The Archmage straightened his back, carefully putting on the posture of the grand and powerful and the mask of the stern and intelligent before leaving his room. They all had their own way of carrying themselves, the archmages. He’d found himself preferring the cold, uncaring, and harsh posture of one who didn’t want to speak to anyone, ever, for he was too powerful. It helped him avoid talking to people. He was afraid the more he talked, the more they’d realize he didn’t be,one amongst archmages.

He didn’t really need to be so cold, this was his tower. No one else was around, he was in command. He wished he could say he was proud of how he took it, but he couldn’t. Maybe it was about time to wrap up the loose ends around the DeRogna situation, but he felt they’d wrapped themselves up. He shook his head, hoping his face had remained as stoney as ever. He liked to keep it this way, even alone. Good practice.

He moved like a silent flicker through the walls of his tower, ready to confront whatever was waiting for him in the night.

………………

Beauregard slammed her fist into the punching bag, sending it flying off its chain with a satisfying snap as it crashed into the back wall of the training room. It helped her think.

She’d had a file on the Gentleman for a while, and she’d been aware of the state of the empire for a while, and she’d known she might get targeted at some point. But the idea of the conjunction of all three had never even crossed her mind. Why would the Gentleman even want to help her? 

Beau walked across to the punching bag and picked up, dragging it back to where the rest of the equipment she damaged had been piled. It was a stupid idea. She might get killed. Dangerous. There were more important things to worry about than the Gentleman.  
She threw the broken punching bag into the pile and crossed her arms. Terrible idea. She wouldn’t do it. But… 

“Doing a lot of thinking?” Beau turned to see Dairon standing in the doorway, motioning at the pile of broken equipment. They had a very good knack for sneaking up on people.  
“Uh, yeah. There’s a case that seems important to pursue, but it might be a little too… close to home. I might fuck it up.” She didn’t like lying to Dairon, but they both know that in that line of work lies were important. Even in the dismantling of lies, lies must be there, if only to protect others. Besides, this wasn’t exactly a lie, just a very weird warping of the truth. 

Dairon sighed a long suffering sigh. “I have no advice to give, because you’ve already made up your mind. You’re too curious to let anything go, Beauregard.” 

Beau opened her mouth to protest, closed it, and then opened her mouth again to deliver a weak “fuck you.” She didn’t need to be nice to Dairon no matter how right she was. In fact, the more rich they were, the meaner she’d get. 

Dairon shook her head and left, calling out behind her as she left “be careful.”

Beau nodded. If what she had heard in the message was true, that’s exactly what she was doing. She frowned, looking for something else to punch. Should’ve asked Dairon to stay and spar. Ah well, she’d just punch a wall or something.

Beauregard wandered off deeper into the maze of training equipment, mind ablaze with curiosity. 

………………

Lucien the Mollymawk watched the birds floating high in the sky, whistling a song as he watched. “So Angelblood, what do you think.” He interrupted his tune.  
Yasha lifted her head to look at him, still polishing her great sword in long, sweeping strokes. He was usually the brains in this unlikely alliance, but he still valued her advice. She had a pragmatic way of looking at things that could be quite clever. But she was never the one to come up with the big plans.

“I think it’s a lie. And if they are lying to us, I’d like to kill them.” She flicked the cloth, and a few stray droplets of blood landed in his hair. He frowned, running his fingers through it in annoyance. He had no issues with blood, but he tried to keep it out of his hair. He liked his hair nice.

“And if it’s not?” Lucien turned to look at her. He could still sort of see out of the back eye a little, but ever since… the incident, it hadn’t worked right. His mystical eyes needed fucking glasses, it was honestly embarrassing. He had to rely on his natural ones more. 

“If it’s not… well I don’t want to get killed. I’d like to see what they have to say, then kill whoever is going to kill us.” She shrugged.  
“Wise as always my friend!” Lucien clapped his hands together gleefully. “I was thinking just the same thing.” To be perfectly honest, he he was mostly doing out of boredom and curiosity, no real self preservation. She nodded, sheathed her sword, and began walking away through the scarred moore. 

“After this are we finally going back to Xhorhas?” He asked.  
She shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ll, uh, think on it.” And that was that. Lucien knew when to stop pushing. I mean, he oftentimes ignored that knowledge, but ever since getting closer with Yasha he’d tried to stop. 

It had been an interesting alliance, the Angel and the Mollymawk. He’d thought it’d be a short term thing when it had started, but he’d grown to like Yasha a lot. She was charming, in her terrifying way. Watching her switch from amature gardener to raging warlord in a matter of seconds was fun. She was more fun than the tomb takers anyways. They were too creepy, too distant, and in some cases too sycophantic. He assumed he’d liked them better back then, but the incident left him with conflicting feelings about them. Like the clash of a sweet and sour sauce. God, he wanted sweet and sour sauce.

“Angelblood, would you mind terribly if we stop for a meal at the next in? I’m craving sauce.” He emphasized the last word dramatically.  
“No, I wouldn’t mind. Which sauce?”  
“Sweet and sour.”  
“Do normal inns have that?”  
“We can find out.”  
“Do bugs taste good in it?”  
“I’m sure we can find that out as well, my dear.” Lucien laughed.

He pulled out his swords and started juggling them as they walked, and Yasha laughed a little too. Maybe this assasination thing was the cerberus assembly catching up to him, finally. He’d expected that a while ago, but he suspected the incident had postponed it. Maybe it was Yasha’s baggage she kept hidden tight under her creepy wings. Maybe it was a hoax. No matter what happened next, though, it would be interesting. 

………………

Fjord, Plank King of Darktow, champion of Uk’otoa, unifier of the pirates, captain of the Lucidian, was worried. He’d sent two men out to respond to meet the so-called operative from the message in his head. They were competent and trustworthy. But the idea of assassins had stuck with him and was making him nervous.

His position was precarious. It always had been, ruling over pirates was always a precipice that one balanced on. Uk’otoa had helped. The heads of the previous Plank Kind and Sabine hanging like demented piñatas form the ceiling of his cave also helped. The didn’t help Fjord though, and he found looking at them made him either want to laugh dementedly or cry like a child. So he didn’t look.

But the idea that this spindle legged throne was about snap made him want to jiggle his leg in fear and look around nervously. But he showed no fear. Show no fear, gain no dissent. People were looking, and mutiny was to be avoided at all costs.

Speaking of mutiny, he expected a report about the search for the cloven crystal soon. The dreams had been getting worse, and he was afraid his time with Uk’otoa would be coming to a head soon. He’d kept him waiting too long. God, he should’ve just broken the stupid pact with him when he found out! But he wouldn’t be where he was without the pact. So he sighed, looked across his stone throne room of pirates and signaled for a plate of cheese and bread to be brought over and for the  
musicians to play the bawdy ballad they’d been playing again. 

The song reminded him of his old friend back on shore. All his fellow sailors would take companions, but he had found himself caught up in the presence of the most marvelous entertainer in Nicodranis. Charming as her mother and yet utterly different. She’d swept him up in her pastries and jests and games and cult-. The cult part had been weird. But he sort of had one too, so he couldn’t judge. He sighed, and could almost smell the cupcake frosting on the wind. 

A noise alerted him to someone entering the cave, and he snapped his head up to see who had just come in, but it was no one he was hoping for. Just another crew with tributes. He sighed, and motioned them forwards. It’d be a long wait. 

………………

The Shadowhand Essek Thelyss did not trust this. Not one bit. He’d been on his toes about the Empire and especially the Cerberus Assembly for years, and this felt like just the sort of trick they’d pull. He didn’t trust it at all. 

Drifting through the halls of the Lucid Bastion he took a breath, calming his nerves. Not that you could see them in his face, decades of practice had made it impossible to discern a single emotion he felt. He was proud of this, sort of, but it wasn’t necessarily a skill you’d write home about. His magic was, though.

Not that he wrote home either, he was still in regular contact with his mother, the Umavi of his den. It truly was a shaky metaphor at best.

Essek was careful to keep his face even stiller as he passed by a member of the aurora watch. They gave just the slightest detour around him as they walked through the empty hall, which made Essek feel good. He was doing it right. Every motion of fear made his heart… do something. Probably happy, maybe not. Either way, he needed people to feel that way, to fear him. 

The message still nagged at the back of his head. It was fake, it had to be. And yet… he was curious. He was very, very curious. It wouldn’t hurt to scry on the location of the meeting at least, he decided. He turned, floating towards his office instead. This would be fine.


	2. An Uncomfortable Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arrival arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

Nott was the first to arrive. The Gentleman watched as she slipped in through the side entrance and disappeared into a sliver of a shadow, blending in marvelously despite the brightness of her skirt or the shine on her button necklace. She really was a wonderful thief. So good at what she did, and so hard to catch. It might be insensitive to say this but the curse had really helped her out. By the time her reputation as goblin thief was known she was a halfling again. It was a very neat trick. 

It was nice, those few moments when it was just him and Nott. Quiet, giving him time to think and look over the entrance. Poor Ophelia. Poor all the Mardoons, really. It had been a terrible turn of fate for them. But her house was still lovely despite the damage, and now that he owned it he could make good use of some of the features she’d added. Ophelia had designed some truly marvelous escape routes. 

It was nice.

And then Beauregard the expositor showed up. He didn’t know what he expected, maybe someone calm and cool and professional. But Beau had just barged in, stick tied to her back and wraps on her knuckles, eyeing everything with a deeply suspicious gaze and yelling “What the hell, Gentleman?”

He sighed. “I’m glad you are safe, Beauregard. I understand you must be confused, but I’ll explain it all when the others arrive.”  
“There are others?” She asked indignantly.  
“Yes, there are many, many others. I was only aware of a small number, but I did what I could.” He sighed. She eyed him hard.  
“You better have a real fucking good explanation for… all of this.” She waved her hands around.  
“I’m sure I do.” The Gentleman smiled as brightly as he could. She started moving, almost stalking the room around her, examining every inch. He had to hold back a chuckle when he saw Nott flit like a ghost to the opposite side of the room right behind Beauregard’s back as the monk approached her former hiding place. She ducked behind an ornate vase of ferns just as Beauregard looked across the at where Nott was. She then eyed the Gentleman narrowly, but he just smiled.

Beauregard and Nott played this game of cat and mouse for around 10 more minutes, Beauregard taking great interest in things like seams in the wall and scratches on the floor and Nott taking great interest in the jade necklace around the monk’s neck.  
She snatched it eventually, the Gentleman barely caught the quick motion of the halfling’s hand slipping the necklace off of the other woman’s neck and disappearing back into the shadows, and he’d been watching like a hawk. 

It took Beauregard two minutes after the necklace was gone to notice the flitter of movement in the deep burgundy curtains by the window, and she snapped her head around and very carefully kept up to the window, silent and low to the ground. She was just about to move the curtains when Nott’s shrill little voice merged from the folds yelling “Watch it!” 

Beauregard jumped backwards, landing squarely in a fighting position with her hands in defensive fists. “What the fuck?”  
“You almost poked me in the eye!” Nott’s voice said again.  
“What? What the fuck are you doing in the curtains? Who the hell are you?”  
Nott grumbled and emerged into the room at large. He chuckled a little as he watched Beauregard’s face change. Nott and her fashion choice always struck an odd chord with the flask and crossbow she always had at the ready.

“I’m Nott, and I was hiding. Why did you almost poke me in the eye?”  
“Yeah, I could fucking tell you were hiding, why?”  
“Why were you poking around in the curtains?” Nott had that loud, slightly manic tone in her voice she often got.  
“Because the curtains were moving without me touching them…” she sounded incredulous. It was rather nice to see someone have a conversation with Nott that wasn’t him.  
“Well, I was hiding because I wanted to surprise you. And it worked!” She grinned triumphantly. “Also, Mr. The Gentleman, I have a gift for you.” She walked over to him, jingling with the many stolen trinkets pinned on her skirt. How did they jingle now but not when she was hiding?  
“...Yes?” The Gentleman was apprehensive about any gift from Nott, considering how she had once gifted Jester a dead rat as a present. Admittedly Jester was an odd one, but that didn’t stop him from taking a preparatory breath. 

She reached into the pocket of her skirt and produced a cream colored handkerchief decorated with filigree lace and ice blue embroidery. “Here, for your…” she motioned to the water dripping off his forehead.

Oh god, this again. The Gentleman gave her a cold, dead stare and took it with a very dry “thank you.” She did this every, single, time. It had started off funny, but it was begging to get truly irritating.  
“You’re welcome.” She said very seriously. She was definitely shitting him. Or maybe not. Nott was a very… interesting person. 

Beauregard looked at them with an annoyed and suspicious expression that he was beginning to realize was a default for her. 

“So, why are you here? Do you work for him?” Beau gave Nott an intense look.  
She scoffed. “Me? Work for him? He’s lucky to work with me. And I almost got killed but I slipped away and trapped my house. They’ll be dead right now.” She grinned with self satisfaction. 

“Why would anyone wanna kill you? Actually nevermind, I’d know why they’d want to kill you, but I mean why would someone want to assassinate you specifically?” Beau crossed her arms. She sounded like she was in an interigation.  
“Because I’m the best at what I do.”  
“What do you do, decorate pawn shops?” Beauregard scoffed.  
“Oh really? Then tell me, where is that lovely jade necklace of yours?”

Beauregard’s hands snapped up to her necklace and found no necklace. Nott laughed, pulling the green stones out of her pocket as she did, and Beauregard lunged at her. As much as it was entertaining, this was going too far.

“Now now, we won’t be fighting here, we’re all friends.” The Gentleman used his “friendly-yet-commanding-and-maybe-not-so-friendly-if-commands-aren’t-flowed” voice. They both paused, looking at him, Beau’s fist an inch from Nott’s face and Nott’s hand in the middle of pulling her crossbow.  
“Or we soon shall be. Now let’s settle down, hm?” 

It was, ironically, as he said that that the doors burst open and a blur of blue, green, and pink shot across the room directly at him screeching. For a very brief and confusing moment he thought he was being attacked by some strange spell and was starting to move, but as the blur caught him and pulled him into a bone crushing hug he realized it was only Jester, her green cloak and layered pink dress swirling around her like a mist. Ever since she had started the high priestess gig there had been a lot more swirling fabrics and colors and hair pieces. 

“Dad! Omigosh it is so good to see you! You. Would not. Believe what happened, me and Arty scryed the whole thing and they totally thought I was there but I wasn’t and they really fell for the water bucket above the door thing, I mean that’s the easiest trick in the book! And then they tried to scry on me and they couldn’t and it was really funny. Thanks for the necklace by the way!” She pointed to the anti scry necklace tangled in the layers of cloak and chiffon around her chest. “It makes me look even more mysterious.”

The Gentleman smiled a little tiredly. “I’m just glad you’re safe, Jester. Do you mind putting me down now?”  
“Oh right, sorry.” She smiled happily and dropped him to the floor where he resisted the urge to massage his ribs. He loved Jester, he really did, but sometimes she confounded him beyond belief. He knew Marion was an amazing woman who’d raise an amazing daughter, but somehow he hadn’t expected that daughter to be amazing in the cult-leader-weight-lifting-champion-master-trickster way she was. 

She smiled and carefully smoothed down her skirts, and then spotted Nott across the room. “Ohmigosh Nott! It’s so good to see you, you look so good!” She ran over scooping Nott up into a hug.  
“Jessie, it’s been too long! Pull any good pranks?”  
“Oh obviously, me and The Traveller and all the followers have done some great work! What about you Nott, steal anything really really good?”  
“Oh yeah, I got some good shit!“  
“Ohmigosh Nott, I almost forgot, I have something for you! Wait just a one second.” She set Nott down and started rummaging through her bright pink bag of holding, shoving in her arm all the way up to the shoulder.

Beauregard was watching this in the sort of mix of abject terror, confusion, and delight Jester so often elicited. She finally managed to get out a “you… have a daughter?”  
“Yes, isn’t she a delight?” The Gentleman smiled.  
“And your daughter is one of the most well known people in the Menagerie coast? Who’s mother is the- wait, does that mean…”  
“That he had sex with my mom? Yeah duh, that’s how babies are made!” Jester was pulling a half crumpled pastry box out of her bag as she said this. The Gentleman just shook his head and laughed exasperatedly. To live a life with Jester was to live a crazy and somewhat embarrassing life. He was a little surprised Beau could recognize Jester on sight, that sort of thing usually only happened on the Menagerie coast, but maybe it was an expositor thing. He could see why’d they’d want to keep an eye on Jester.

“Huh.” Was all Beauregaed said. She seemed to be contemplating something deeply, and eyeing Nott with unabated annoyance. He’d heard rumors about her being a somewhat headstrong monk who’d done some excellent work all the same, and he was starting to believe they’d undersold her headstrongness. 

By now Jester had pulled out a suspiciously damp looking bag, a little box of powder, a firework, and an artfully crafted painting of the Traveller and a dick in her search for the thing she had for Nott. Beau was watching in interest now. 

“Here it is!” Jester finally pulled out a small silver ring embedded with tiny cut rubies that reselmebeld little buttons. “I sliced some lady’s finger off for this.”  
Beau looked even more horrified and interested, but Nott grabbed the ring and slid it on her finger. “Thank you Jessie! I’ll steal something for you next time I have the chance.”

Beau looked like she was about to say something when the door to one of the secret passageways swung open.  
Ah, here it comes, The Gentleman thought. Beau, Nott, and Jester were the easy ones. Sure there was definite animosity between Beau and Nott but that he could deal with. This is when he started to get worried. 

Lucien the Mollymawk and The Orphanmaker had entered. They were quite the contrasting pair. Lucien was slim and colorful and grinned cheekily, whereas The Orphanmaker was large, near monochrome and not the least bit cheerful looking. He’d never seen them in person before, but he wasn’t surprised so many rumors started about them, they looked the kind to have stories about them. Though he’d been surprised to hear they were working together. 

“Ah, hello friends! It’s so good you’re finally joining us.” He smiled. They had weapons on them, Lucien had two swords and The Orphanmaker had a very large greatsword on her back. He’d expected that, but it was starting to make him slightly uncomfortable. He had his bodyguards with him obviously, hidden away in nearby doorways. But this wasn’t his domain, not yet, and the amount of powerful people with hot tempers and deadly weapons didn’t sit right with him.

“Ah, Gentleman, lovely to finally meet you. This has been a very interesting turn of events and I’m excited to hear your story about them.” Lucien smiled.  
“Of course, and I will be telling it once everyone has arrived.”  
“Everyone?” Lucien turned and noticed the people already in the hall. He eyed them with a quick, analytical glance, but didn’t have time to do anything else as Jester skipped up to him.  
“I love your horns, they’re super pretty, you know I tried to do my horns like that once but they kept getting caught in my hair. Have you ever grown your hair out, it would look super cute long!” Lucien blinked, looking slightly taken aback, but he recovered and was smiling again in no time flat.  
“I used to have my hair long, and I think it looked quite nice. But it did get in the way sometimes. But forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Lucien the Mollymawk, who are you?”  
“I’m Jester!” She smiled and opened her arms for a hug. 

He could see Nott staring Lucien down hard as he somewhat tentatively hugged Jester, and Beau eyeing The Orphanmaker, who was in turn watching the room like a bodyguard. It was very interesting, like watching the stand-off before a shoutout but with eyes instead of guns.

“You’re the man who killed Vess DeRogna.” Beau said bluntly.

Lucien smiled and bowed, horn jewelry glittering as he moved. “The one and only.”

The Gentleman noticed how Nott’s face changed when he said that. It was a very slight change, but a change all the same. 

“You know there’s a lot of organizations after you. The Cobalt Soul doesn’t really fancy archmages but we’d be happy to deal with you anyways.” Beau’s voice was dry and steady.  
“Well as horrible and terrifying is that would be, last I heard the Cobalt Soul wasn’t feeling too well.” He grinned.

Beau blanched and seemed like she wanted to lunge at him, but The Orphanmaker gently set one large hand on the hilt of her sword, and Beau stepped back slightly. 

“Oh, I’m afraid I have introduced my friend. This is Yasha, the Orphanmaker.” He motioned to The Orphanmaker, who nodded. “I’m Yasha.” She repeated. She had a very soft voice, not at all what he expected from a feared warlord. 

“The Orphanmaker, you mean The Orphanmaker one of the most feared warmongers in Xhorhas?” Beau frowned even deeper.  
“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s me.” She said.  
“Hey Gentleman, is there anyone invited who isn’t a famous criminal?” Beau looked up, raising both her voice and her eyebrows at him. 

“Hm, that’s an interesting question. Depends on how you define criminal.” In his honest opinion yes, but some people disagreed on whether or not the Archmage’s actions were technically illegal. 

Beau rolled her eyes and Lucien laughed. 

“Do you guys want a donut? They’re only a few days old.” Jester picked up a crumpled pastry box she’d taken out, started to open it, and then made a face that could only be described as “horrifying realization” and closed the box very quickly. 

“Ok, not that box. It’s a different box.” She started messing around in her haversack again while everyone looked on in concern.

“What’s in that box if you don’t mind my asking?” Lucien leaned towards her.  
“You do not want to know, oh boy.” Jester shoved the box into her bag with a hint of desperation. 

Lucien furrowed his brow. 

“When Jessie says you don’t want to know, you don’t want to know.” Nott turned to Lucien, a hint of venom in her voice. Not that venom was unusual for Nott, but usually it was all or nothing. 

“Who else are we waiting for?” Beau asked.  
“There are three more people coming, but only two will arrive today. The third will take a little more time to get here. But I won’t make you wait for him.”

“And might I ask, how did you know about all this in advance?” Lucien raised an eyebrow. He looked relaxed, but his hands never drifted too far from the hilts of his swords sitting at his hips.

“I’ll explain that once everyone is here, as I said.” The Gentleman pitched his voice to be stern and commanding but still friendly. 

“Here is the right box!” Jester pulled a different pastry box out of her bag, lifted the lid, and proffered it to everyone. Inside were a few somewhat smashed looking donuts and some cupcakes that had seen far better days. 

“I’ll take one.” Beau reached out for a glazed donut but Nott, all speed and precision, jumped up and yanked the one she’d been reaching for right out from under fingertips and bit down into it.

Beau snarled and clenched her fists, seeming to have a very hard time with the no fighting rule. Nott grinned a shit (and donut) eating grin. 

Lucien chuckled and Jester shook her head. “There’s plenty more to spare, don’t worry I’ve got loads.” Beau shrugged and took another donut.  
The Gentleman wasn’t pleased with the way she was surveying the room, it looked a little too… predatory. Not in the way Lucien looked predatory, he looked like he was hunting a specific prey, which The Gentleman could deal with. But Beau looked like she was ready to make any part of the world her prey no matter how big. And she was just waiting for something to make itself a target. It was unsettling.

An awkward silence fell over the group as Jester ate and everyone else surveyed each other with deeply distrusting eyes. He knew Jester was also surveying everyone in her own way, but she was much less hostile. Obviously he hated that someone had tried to kill his daughter, but he had to admit her aggressive friendliness did help ease some of the tension. 

“You guys ever heard of the Traveller?” She asked, pulling out a donut and taking a bite from it.  
“Yeah, of course, it’s your cult.” Beau rolled her eyes.

“It’s not really a cult. I mean it’s kind of a cult, but it’s also sort of a religion! Or a club of super really fun people who just like this one dude a lot!”

“That is, by definition, a cult.” Beau said indignantly. 

“Maybe, but it’s a super cool cult. Arty is really fun.” 

“Arty?” Lucien raised his eyebrows.

“It’s what I call the traveller! But only I’m allowed to call him that, since I’m his high priestess and best friend and all.” 

“Best friend?” Lucien raised his eyebrows even higher.

“Duh, why would I be high priestess for someone who isn’t my best friend? Arty, hey Arty, I’m your best friend right?” There was a pause, and then with a whiff of vanilla another bite disappeared out of the donut Jester was holding.

“See?” Everyone did. They all looked a little confused, expect Nott who was nodding with satisfaction.

The doors burst open and the smell of saltwater hit him before anything else. Standing in the doorway was a handsome half orc man, dark hair beginning to grey, simple leather armor and sun bleached pants and boots, the only ornamentation being the anti scry amulet and a necklace hung with driftwood and what appeared to be human teeth. He carried no weapon, but that didn’t make The Gentleman any more comfortable.

“Fjoooord!” Jester yelled excitedly, running at him and tackling him into what the Gentleman knew to be a painfully strong hug. Fjord blinked, somewhat taken aback, but smiled warmly.  
“Jester! I didn’t expect you to be here, it’s been awhile.” He chuckled, already surveying the other people in the room over Jester’s shoulder.

“Sup Fjord. Do you know everyone here Jester?” Beau accompanied this greeting with a sup nod, but there was a slight undercurrent to her tone that was… a little vicious maybe. Fjord gave a polite but somewhat veiled smile towards her. “Well I didn’t expect you here either, Beauregard. I didn’t expect any of this in fact, and I’d like an explanation.” 

“And I don’t know everyone Beau, I just make a lot of friends!” Jester hooked her arm through Fjord’s and led him into the room, shutting the door behind her with her foot. “I didn’t expect to be here either Fjord but then someone tried to kill me so dad took me here and me and The Traveller laughed at them over scry. Oh, speaking of.” She drew a few symbols in the air and started talking.  
“Hey Bonjo, just wondering if you and the followers are ok, did you prank them good? Assassins make good pinatas, be back soon, do dooooo!” She nodded a few times and then said to the room at large.

“They’re good, and they totally pranked one of the people coming to kill me.” Fjord nodded, but he still seemed to be mulling over “assassins make good piñatas.” 

“So how’s the cult, Fjord?” Beau said, and then frowned. “Wait, there are at least three people here who have had or currently run a cult.” Her eyes snapped to the Gentleman, who sighed.

“Well it makes sense, seeing as some of the people trying to kill you run their own cults and probably don’t want the competition.” Everyone looked up at him, grasping at the slight amount of information he’d given them. Beau just nodded, and if rumors were true she already knew a bit about these cults.

“Speaking of, I hope this is over soon so I can get back to Darktow. I have business there that I can’t just up and leave.”  
“Darktow? So you’re a pirate man?” Lucien grinned. 

“He isn’t just a pirate man, he’s the Plank King! He’s like, friends with all the big scary monsters who control the sea and he hangs peoples heads from the ceiling and he has like a pirate army!” Jester bounced on her toes excitedly.  
“Really?” Lucien leaned back, giving Fjord an appraising look.  
Fjord shrugged. “What can I say. I work hard.”

“Yeah, you do work hard, but you don’t work fast. I heard you haven’t had much luck with your little fetch quest yet.” Beau folded her arms.

Fjord smiled in a confident, mild way The Gentleman recognized very well. It was the kind of smile he gave when Nott had offered him a handkerchief the first time. 

“The mysteries of the depths are hard to plum, but as an Expositor I’m sure you know that already, if in a more metaphorical sense.” 

“Expositor? I’m surprised, you don’t strike me as the Expositor type.” Lucien laughed condescendingly. 

“You don’t strike me as a guy who can kill an archmage on his own.” Nott gave him a wide, donuty grin that still looked like it should hold fangs. Lucien gave her a very sharp look, eyes narrowing. 

“Well I’m sure we’re all full of surprises.” His voice was still calm and polite, but he could hear layers of tension behind it, stretched taught in his every word.

“Indeed Mr. Mollymawk.” Nott still smiled, a finger tapping a button at her throat.

“What’s a Mollymawk?” Jester asked.

“A type of albatross, which is a kind of bird. They say they’re bad omens, and that they carry the souls of dead sailors. Some people say it’s unlucky to kill an albatross, that it’ll bring you bad fortune. Mostly just old sailors who believe it, though.” Beau rattled off this list of facts in the same abrasive tone she seemed to use for everything. 

“Well then I’m sure I won’t be getting killed by Sailor Boy here anytime soon.” Lucien winked at Fjord.

“You know, I actually killed an albatross once. It was on accident mind you, it was a dark night and I was on the deck and something moving up near the sails caught my attention. Albatrosses are big, so in the dark and so high above I could only make out a rough shape and thought it could be something dangerous, so I shot it with my crossbow. And when it fell to the deck, wouldn’t you know it, it was an albatross.” Fjord spoke in his clam, simple drawl, his tone captivating and strong.

“Now I'm not a man for superstition, but I knew most of my crew was, at least the albatross superstition, so I threw it over the side of the boat. It was a big thing, heavy, wings the size of all get out. But I got it off the boat and cleared up the blood and went about my night. Little sad that I killed such a beautiful creature for no reason, but I wasn’t worried.  
“But that night, well, my ship went down and drowned most of the crew, except me and one other, the man who caused the wreck.” 

Lucien grinned. “So the albatross does bring bad luck?”

“You’d think, but that was the night I first met my patron, and he’s brought me fortunes I could never have dreamed of in the past. Like the head of the man who caused the wreck. So I don’t know if I’d bring good luck or bad luck on myself if I killed you Lucien, but I’ll endeavor not to find out.” He had the same polite, steady tone and nice smile, but his eyes bore hard and sharp into Lucien’s.

The air was cold as Fjord’s sentence ended, and Lucien seemed on the edge of some sort of attack. 

The Gentleman heard soft, hissing footsteps coming from the secret passageway to his right and cursed. This wasn’t a good time for this. But oh well, he’d have to face this part sooner or later.

“Ah, I believe our final guest for today has arrived.” He said, and everyone turned. If the tension in the room was already palpable, now it was so extreme and all consuming that there was barely any room left for air.

The Gentleman tried to repress a shiver as the Archmage of Antiquity Caleb Widogast entered. He was dressed in a complicated amber coat that obscured his frame somewhat, long hair tied back from his face, and sparks snapping around him as steam hissed up from where his feet met the floorboards. His posture and demeanor were cold and stony, and he could see every muscle in the room tense dramatically as he entered.

“What the fuck is he doing here.” Nott hissed. The Archmage gave her a glance, a nod, and looked up at the Gentleman.  
“Ja, I was wondering the same thing myself.” He had a surprisingly soft, light voice. It was still cold as his face, though.

“Well, now that we’re all here.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them, trying to squash all the discomfort the wizard was causing him. Everyone else in the room was scary, no doubt about that, but he believed he could handle all of them with the resources at his disposal. He doubted he could handle and angry Archmage with his house ablaze, though.

“Right. I’ll start at the beginning then, shall I? As you know I’m a knowledgeable man who likes to hear things from everyone. There’s always an open pair of ears and an even more open mouth for me, if I look. Well, my ears have been telling me of some very disturbing goings on. I’m sure some of you have heard of the betrayer god cults? Well they received some rather large backing, and they’ve been planning to make some serious moves very recently. Moves I am not big enough to stop. 

“At least so I thought, till some ears passed me a very interesting list of names. Assassinations to take place today. The list was wildly incomplete, but it was accurate. So I gathered what resources I could and snatched you all up before the assassinations could take place.” 

“I am not sure it would count as assasination for some of you. For me certainly, and for some of you, but the definition of assasination-” The Archmage began. 

“That’s bullshit, assasination is assasination.” Beauregard spat.

“Semantics, semantics. Do you want me to tell you why I’ve done this or not?” The Gentleman snapped. Everyone quieted. 

“Thank you. Now, the reason I did this.” He sighed, taking a deep breath and configuring the right words.  
“The Empire won’t last. I hate to admit that since I’ve built much of my life around it, but it won’t. I’m sure at least some of us have gotten news of the far more successful attempts on people’s life, at that's just the beginning. The Empire has been very unstable since the war with Xhorhas, and this will topple it. And I doubt the rest of Wildemount will fare much better, these betrayer god cults aren’t just focused on the Empire. Their backers? Maybe, but that’s not important. Either way, we’re all fucked, to put it eloquently.

“But I do not want to be fucked, at least not in that way. I’m aware the Empire will not fare well against these aggressors. But Xhorhas and the Menageie coast? They might defeat them. Maybe the Empire will help with that. Maybe Tal’dorei will sweep in since betrayer gods are a worldwide phenomenon, maybe the gods themselves. In the end, I don’t care about the details. What I care about is this: when all this ends, for better or for worse, there will be smoking ruble where the empire is now. And when the dust settles, I want me and a group of very powerful and influential friends who have survived, nay, thrived through this war to be there to pick up the pieces.

“My goal in this is for us to protect each other. To survive this war and, cliche as it might sound, become stronger together. Because let’s face it, no one in this room can stop what has already been started. We could put a dent in it sure, but we would just die a merciless death before anything could be truly helped. What we can do instead is prepare for when this is over. We can protect some of our assets, protect each other, and make ourselves ready for when things finish up. And then reinstate ourselves as people with power, influence, resources. It’ll be mutually beneficial.”

The Gentleman watched their reactions carefully. Some looked, surprised, some looked contemplative, some looked suspicious, and the silence began to stretch out elastically as people thought. It was Fjord who spoke up fist. 

“As interesting as your offer sounds, I have people who rely on me. I’m a fair captain who doesn’t abandon his crew.” 

“I’m sure you are, Fjord, and I’m sure your pirate island and sea of ships needs you. But it was not long ago I heard a rumor that one of these betrayer god worshippers was a young woman named Avantika, a pirate captain. I heard she was somewhat of a protege of a deity-like creature named Uk’otoa, and was actually almost ready to free it. Now I’d hate to suggest you get your powers in an unsavory way, but I wonder, hypothetically speaking, which person it’d look more kindly on. The man who’s been failing at freeing it for years but has used its gifts so thoroughly, or a woman who already completed what he could not in a quarter of the time. But that’s all just rumors.” The Gentleman chuckled to himself. He’d really struck gold with that little piece of information.

Fjord blanched.

“I agree, it is an, ah, very interesting offer, but I belong to the Cerberus Assembly. I have duties there.” The Archmage said in a blank, unemotional voice.

“I don’t doubt you did, but I’m sure you’ve heard the news about the deaths of several of its members? Not much Assembly left to be dutiful too, I’m afraid.”

Beauregard laughed coldly. “That’s what all Assembly members want. They all hate each other’s guts.” 

“Your insinuation, while ah, very bold, is not entirely true. We have professional disagreements, but we do not wish to kill one another. And the news of Assembly members dying is always...troubling.”

“I’m sure it is.” Lucien smiled showing off all his fangs. “It must have been very troubling then, when I killed Vess DeRogna. Though it didn’t trouble you so much you didn’t take her place.” 

“Positions must be filled.” The Archmage said coldly. It was odd how icy of a man he was, being known for his raging fire.

“Well I don’t know about you guys but I’m going to stay here with dad!” Jester said excitedly. 

“The Gentleman is your dad?” Lucien asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Duh, look at us! We’re both blue, we’re both smart, we both have fanatical followers, we’re practically the same person you guys.”

Yasha, who’d been very silent this whole time, leaned down and whispered something to Lucien. Lucien raised his eyebrows and whispered hurriedly back. 

“How are you sure the betrayer gods aren’t gonna come back and take over?” Nott asked.

“I’m not, but wouldn’t you rather be surrounded by powerful people who can teleport and talk to gods and kill archmages when that happens? No matter the outcome, this will be mutually beneficial.” 

“Wouldn’t people judge us for not helping at the other end of this. Ask why we didn’t do anything?” Beau stared him down

“How do they know we didn’t do anything? In the chaos, our deeds of heroics got lost. Besides, I’m sure we’ll do something interesting besides sitting on our asses. You all seem the rambunctious type, and I’m sure there are things we’d all like to collaborate on keeping operable during this time.”

“How do you know you’re not gonna murder us?” Nott asked in her shrill, aggressive manner.

“I wouldn’t have given you time to prepare like this if I’d wanted to kill you. Or gathered you all together.”

“Why do you even want us to work together? We all hate each other.” Beau folded her arms.

“I don’t hate you!” Jester smiled at Beau.  
“Besides Jester.” She amended.

“Yes, but that can be remedied, firs impressions are always rough. You don’t really need to like each other, you just need to be willing to work together and not kill each other. You won’t find a single weak link in this group, more ready to thrive in this coming catastrophe.” The Gentleman smiled.

“Why are we in shady creek run?”

“It’s outside the Empire but it’s a place I still have roots in. And I know some people deeper into the woods who can help us if necessary.” 

Beau paused, frowning intently. “Fuck it, I’ll stay.” She said after a short pause. 

“Excellent!” The Gentleman clapped. He knew Beauregard would be staying to… exposit him, or whatever expositors did, but he hadn’t expected anything else. There soon wouldn’t be any Cobalt Soul to exposit him to, anwyas. 

Lucien looked up from his conversation with Yasha, which seemed intense, but short. “So will we. Though if we feel like leaving at any time I trust we won’t be stopped?” 

“Of course not. I’m not holding you hostage, I’m giving you an opportunity.” 

Nott nodded. “I’ll stick around for a little bit.” She grinned at Lucien. There was something… malicious in her voice. Lucien grinned tightly back.

The Archmage frowned, and started making some somatic gestures in the air and muttering. Everyone turned silent and watched as he did, staring at him with hands tense next to their weapons. It was a breathless few moments while he cast spells they couldn’t see, then stopped and thought for a few moments. He took a deep breath and nodded. 

“I will stay for now.” So he must’ve got some updates about the assembly. Interesting.

There was a certain grimace that bloomed on everyone's face as he said this, including the Gentleman’s. But he was a useful ally, even if he was a hated one.

“Yeah, same here. For now.” Fjord still looked deeply uncomfortable.

“Wonderful! Now, you’ll be given room and board, though you’ll have to share rooms for now.”

“What! Why? This house is fucking huge!” Beau complained.

“Indeed it is. But the woman who once had this house, my dear friend Ophelia Mardoon, had many enemies and therefore kept her house heavily trapped. She planned on giving it to me if anything happened to her, which tragically, it did, so I had the information to deactivate most of the traps. She was aware of her enemy’s increased activity against her right before her demise and so she increased the number of traps drastically. Unfortunately she didn’t have time to send me the information regarding how to deactivate the new ones. Her enemies did do some of that for me though.” He chuckled.

“But anyways. While a lot of the house is safe, there are still several areas that we cannot access currently. And trust me, you do not want to tangle with Ophelia’s traps. They were scraping Jagentoth guts off of the wall for days after they met some of them. So you’ll have to share a room with someone, though one person will get a few days of privacy while our eighth member arrives.” 

Everyone frowned deeply at each other, judging who they’d want for a roommate, but Jester piped up almost instantly. “I call the room that’s alone for a few days! I like staying up late chatting with Arty and I wouldn’t want to keep anyone awake, you know.”

No one argued. The Gentleman had a feeling that if it had been anyone else there would have been arguments, but Jester always managed to make people love her within moments.

“I’m staying with Yasha.” Lucien hooked an arm around her waist and Yasha nodded.  
“I call Fjord.” Nott darted to stand next to him.  
“Uh, why?” Fjord asked.  
“Hate Beau, and the Archmage is creepy. That leaves you, shorty.”  
“I am not short.” Fjord steamed. But he didn’t seem to disagree with rooming with Nott.

Beau groaned. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, he would be groaning if he had to share a room with The Archmage too. Though he didn’t seem happy to be sharing with Beau either, though it was very hard to tell. His face had been cruelly blank this whole time. 

“Perfect! Now I’d suggest you go pick out your rooms, there are signs on the ones that are trapped or already in use, dinner will be in a few hours.” He smiled grandly at them, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture. Fuck, this was the worst idea he’d ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best work, but hey, need to get through this part! New chapter up soon hopefully. More povs next chapter.


	3. An Irritable Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a breather before dinner.

Beau fumed as she slammed up the stairs to look for a room. How the fuck did she end up in such a horrible situation? Admittedly, she’d been in worse ones before. Her time dealing with pirates certainly hadn’t been very savory and that mission involving the Lolth cult had been… let’s just say she was a very lucky person. Hell, dealing with the aftermath of the Tomb Takers had been pretty shitty.

But she hadn’t had to share a bedroom with an Archmage back then. She could hear the hiss of his steps as he walked mounted the stairs behind her, making her innards squirm. She didn’t need to be so uncomfortable. They were on the same side. They were both empire kids, doing their job.

But no one at the Cobalt Soul liked the Cerberus Assembly, especially not Caleb Widogast. At least all the others kept their cruelty a little veiled. Widogast the Warmonger wore it proud on his sleeve along with the ashes of all places he’d burnt.

Maybe he’d get on with The Orphanmaker, they were both warlords in their own right. Though a warlord of Xhorhas and an Archmage who’d burnt half of it to a husk didn’t sound like they’d make fast friends. Then again, the Orphanmaker had spent a lot of time concurring and killing most of the residents there, and she’d operated in southern Xhorhas, and the Archmage did most of his burning in the north. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe, she didn’t know much about this Orphanmaker, this Yasha. At least Yasha was hot. Well, technically the Archmage was hot too, but in a very different way.

Beau stopped and surveyed the hall of rooms she’d wandered into. It was carpeted in deep maroon with carved dark oak doors and tasteful rot iron braisers holding floating balls of light, but she could still see dried blood in the seams where the wall met the floor and deep scratches like that of a heavy blade on the baseboard.

Walking past the doors with signage on them, she opened the first door on her left. The room was large and spacious, smelling of iron and perfumed flowers. It only had one bed in it, but there was a rather soft looking velvet couch up against a wall that could work. Stepping inside she crossed to the window instantly, and found it to be stuck shut. This wouldn’t do. If she was going to sleep in the same room as an archmage she was going to have an alternate escape route.

Slamming the door shut, she moved onto the next room. The smell hit her first, it was a disgusting mix of blood and alcohol. Peering in, she could tell this was some sort of sitting room. The furniture, upholstered in dark reds, was knocked about as if in a struggle, and the walls papered in muted gothic patterns had long scratches down them. The cut crystal whiskey decanter and cups sat knocked over on the floor, their contents long dried into the carpet, and a blood caked knife was lodged deep into the varnished smoking table. Clearly The Gentleman hadn’t been very thorough in clean up. Beau closed the door and stepped back, feeling her stomach churn a bit.

Taking a deep breath, she moved on and opened the last door at the end of the hall. This one was a lot better. It had two beds and a balcony, tastefully decorated in dark reds and browns and honey golds, and was big enough to comfortably fit two people. Though not a wall of fire. Beau shivered and threw herself down on one of the beds, which had wine colored silk sheets and a down quilt.

“Oi! Archmage! In here!” Beau called out. The Archmage entered a few moments later, surveying the room.  
“Ja, this will do.” He said, carefully taking his jacket off and placing over the back of a plush chair. Up close he was a skinny motherfucker, Beau knew she could take him out in one good punch. But the rows of little pockets that lined his vest and the two books strapped under his arms was a decent deterrent.

He started taking books out of his sleeves and setting them on the shelf near his bed. Must be some sort of extra dimensional sleeve pocket, typical wizard bullshit.

Beau didn’t have much stuff, and most of what she did she wanted to keep on her. The stick stayed on her back, but she supposed she didn’t need the night vision goggles right now so she hung them off her bedpost. Her notes stayed on her, so did her gold. She didn’t trust that thieving little bastard Nott not to take it. Then again, the little nuisance could probably pickpocket her very easily but sneak into an Archmage’s room a lot less easily. So the gold went into the drawer of her nightstand along with her jade necklace, spare set of knuckle wraps, spare Cobalt Soul sash, and bottle opener. The disguise kit stayed on her though.

She would have brought more stuff if she’d known she’d be staying for awhile, but honestly she wasn’t much of a stuff person anymore. Monks would do that to you. She remembered her youth in her parents house, how much she’d enjoyed stealing their stuff. How mad they got. But oh well, if the Gentleman was right they wouldn’t have much stuff to steal after the coming catastrophe. They might not even be alive. Maybe that should’ve made her sad, but all she felt was a very slight twinge of annoyance that she couldn’t fuck them over one last time before that.

Beau decided to examine her escape route, and so pushed through velvet curtains over the thick glass balcony doors and opened them. It was a lovely balcony, the same sort of deep wood surrounded by a rot iron fence in grey curlicues. Unfortunately the view wasn’t the prettiest, an expanse of sickly grey purple wilderness and not much else at this angle. It wasn’t a huge drop to the group, granted it wouldn’t be a fun one to make, but Beau didn’t train so hard just to not be able to survive a two story fall. There were windows not far to her left and right, but the house walls didn’t look easy to climb, which was probably on purpose. There was a balcony above her too, but she wasn’t sure she could get onto it easily. Oh well, it was still a pretty good escape route all things considered. She stepped back inside, closing the doors behind her with a click.

Across the room it seemed the Archmage had emptied all his books, because he now sat stiffly on his bed, staring at the wall. God, he even sat on the bed like a cold, emotionless statue, eyes unfocused. He might not be paying attention. Maybe he was doing the weird thing wizards did where they looked through animals eyes or whatever. It might be an opportunity... _No, you’re not about to go one on one with a very arson happy archmage_ , her common sense interjected.

God, she hated it when her brain was more sensible than her fists. He looked so very punchable. Sensible. Fists. Dairon. Shit, was Dairon ok? She hadn’t heard from the Cobalt Soul since she’d left. They’d been fine then. They usually didn’t communicate on missions unless it was super necessary. This was normal.

But The Gentleman had implied that a lot of other people were going to be killed. Dairon was a better expositor than her, so she’d probably be a target. Oh my god, what if Dairon was dead? No, it’s fine. They’d been in the expositor business way longer than she had. Dairon would be fine. Hopefully.

“I’m gonna go explore, don’t follow me.” Beau stood up, aggressively throwing her legs over the side of her bed and standing up. She was gonna spend as little time with the Archmage as possible.

“I had no intention to.” He said, barely looking at her as she left. Beau slammed the door shut behind her and walked into the hall, taking deep breaths of air that felt fresher the farther away from the Archmage she was.

……………

No, no, no. This was bad, this was really bad. Caleb bit the inside of his cheeks and breathed heavily, trying to keep as emotionless as he could. It would’ve been bad enough if it was just the whole assasination situation. It would’ve been enough to learn about the death of several other Assembly members. Hell, it would’ve been enough to have the empire collapsing around him. But no, life had to throw at him not just all that, but those two.

He’d thought he could avoid it. After he’d burned the book Lucien had practically lost his mind, and after he closed the deal with Veth she swore they’d never meet again. He could’ve wiped his hands of it as easily as he wiped the ashes from his clothes. But here they were, Lucien sounding sane as he ever did and Veth staring daggers at him, clearly just as capable as she used to be.

He’d had to stay. The Assembly needed to survive through this coming catastrophe, and if he stayed safe with them he could preserve it. He also couldn’t leave Lucien and Veth alone, he needed to be there to keep an eye on them. Make sure he knew what they said about the situation. _And he could leave the assembly behind if he wanted, leave Trent_ , a treacherous little voice in the back of his head said. No, this wasn’t about that. This was about other things.

The monk threw her legs off the bed, standing up in an annoyed huff. “I’m gonna go explore, don’t follow me.” She started marching to the door.

“I had no intention to.” He managed, and then the door slammed shut. Caleb sagged, the tension leaving his shoulders, the spark cantrip fading away, and his face dropping into the anxious expression he’d been holding in all afternoon. Flopping fully onto his bed, he summoned Frumpkin, and with a pop the cat was loafing on his chest.

Caleb stroked his furry friend and stared at the ceiling paneling in dread. That was another issue, sharing the room. He knew he could survive a monk attack pretty easily if he was prepared, but he wouldn’t be. He’d be asleep. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t let his guard down. This was a bad idea.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. No, this wasn’t that bad. School had been worse. He’d shared rooms many times before and this roommate didn’t seem particularly keen to be in a room with him for more than necessary, so it really honestly wouldn’t be terrible.

His feeble attempts at optimism almost made him chortle. No, this situation sucked. Frumpkin murped and patted his face with his little paw, which made Caleb smile.

“Nein, katze.” He said to Frumpkin half heartedly, but didn’t try to remove the paw. It was nice. Frumpkin had been his only friend for a very long time, and knowing he’d always have the little fey cat to bat at his face made him feel a little better. He sighed. He’d set up spells on the room in a second, but for now, he’d take a moment to rest.

……………

“Hey Fjord, does this house have nine cats?” Jester looked up from where she was pressing her ear to the floor to address Fjord, who was standing in the doorway of the room opposite hers.

“Why do you ask?” Fjord turned, crossing the hall into her room.

“Weeeelll…. I was sort of listening to the room below, and the Archmage said “nine cats”. And I don’t know what he meant, sooo...”

Fjord sighed and sat down on the floor next to her, hardy sailor’s boots scraping at the varnish on the floors. “Jester, it is deeply unwise and very rude to listen to the person below you.”

“I know, but I heard the door slam and I thought something juicy might be going on, so I listened really hard. And all I heard was the archmage saying nine cats! Besides, I’ll bet he’ll put up spells we can’t hear through soon or something.” She began strands of hair from where they’d stuck to her cheek when she’d pressed it against the floor.  
“Well I don’t know what the Archmage has to do with nine cats, but I’d suggest you don’t try listening again. You must’ve tried really hard, these floors are super thick.”

“Well, Arty helped me some. I bet the arhcmage eats them.” Jester grinned, jumping up and throwing herself on her bed. Already she’d adorned it with a quilted lilac comforter and pinned several lude drawings above the headboard, giving the room’s clear aesthetic that very Jester twist she seemed to bring to everything.

“Jester... why would the Archmage eat cats?” Fjord stood up, chuckling.

“I dunno, why does he always look constipated?” Jester laughed, and Fjord couldn’t help but laugh with her.

“I’d say Beau is the one who always looks constipated.” He sat down next to her. She’d dropped her traveler’s cloak down on the floor, and in her fluffy pink dress and with her blue skin she looked like a piece of sentient cotton candy.

“No, Beau just looks like she ate too much sour candy all the time.” She kicked off her boots and flung them against the other bed. “I wonder who the new guy is gonna be.”

“Based on what I’ve seen today? Criminal, maybe a cult leader, probably an asshole. But why don’t you ask your dad?”

Jester smiled like he’d just given her a groundbreaking idea and jumped off the bed. “I will! And I’ll ask him if we have nine cats here. I hope we do, I hope the Archmage doesn’t eat them.”

Jester skipped off, picking up her cloak from the ground as she went, leaving the smell of sugar behind her. Like a piece of spun sugar on the wind she was gone in a flash, leaving nothing but the scent of sweetness behind. And an already shockingly messy room, but that was by the by.

Fjord shook his head and walked back over to his own accommodations. Already Nott had added a collection of various trinkets and items to her half of the room which was honestly impressive for someone who didn’t appear to have many bags and very small pockets. She was hanging a string of reflective multicolored buttons between two bedposts when Fjord entered, sitting down heavily in the carved back chair.

Talking with Jester had been a nice, if momentary distraction, but now he had this mess to think about. This wasn’t good. He’d been extremely careful with Uk’otoa and now this.

He’d managed the balancing act perfectly for years. Got the pact, took his time finding out exactly what the pact was, then got the first crystal, and then worked on the second. For years. Never trying so little Uk’otoa would notice, but never trying so much he’d actually find it. He had excuses. He was a pirate king, the unifier of the pirates of the Lucidian, how could find the time to do it all at once?

And then this Avantika shows up and actually does what she’s supposed to do. God, this was all going to shit. He doubted he’d be able to hold onto Darktow with this Avantika in the picture. The throne of pirates was never stable, but she could topple it with the toe of her boot. And he’d rather not be there when it fell.

Fjord noticed Nott slip something in between her mattress and the bed frame before taking a swig from her oversized flask. Huh. He’d have to keep that in mind, maybe check it out once she left.

“So, Nott, what do you uh, do for a living?” Fjord tried.

“I steal shit.” She lowered the flask and gave him a withering glare.

“Right. Right.”

“You have a problem with that?”

“No, no. I’m a pirate Nott, stealing things is what pirates do.”

“Don’t you patronize me!” Her shrill little voice stepped up an octave in a way that should’ve been funny but was honestly a little terrifying. Maybe it was the crossbow.

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Fjord said, sincerity and mockery fighting for their place in his voice without a clear winner.

Nott narrowed her eyes and stared at him. “I’ve got my eye on you…” she said slowly, before exiting the room.

Fjord chuckled. She was a funny one. But he made sure to check his pockets after she’d gone, just in case. Actually, now that she was gone…

He didn’t feel very guilty as he crept across the room towards her bed and dipped his fingers into the spot she had. It was a tight squeeze for his much larger fingers, but he managed. He felt something, a piece of paper?

After a moment of struggle he managed to pull it out unwrinkled, sliding it up the silk sheets clinging to the side of the bed. It was a sketch drawing of a halfling man, curly hair and found glasses, holding a little halfling in his arms with equally curly hair and even rounder eyes. They appeared to be standing over a table of bottles of some sort, and the man was pointing to one of them excitedly.  
Odd. Not what he was expecting. It could be family, maybe a young Nott and her father? Possibly, but probably not. Maybe a husband and son? No, she definitely didn’t seem like a mother. Fjord decided it would remain a mystery for now, and slipped the slip of paper back where he’d found it.

He sat back down in his chair, closing his eyes and leaning back into the hard wood. The air felt empty without the distant sounds of surf, or the creaking of a boat, or the noise of a tavern filled with drunken sailors. This cold, beautiful house with it’s decadent colors and rich design, blood spattered walls and battle scarred furnishings felt lifeless and soundless. Too vast and devoid of spirit.

Oh well. Jester could fix that.

……………

Yasha was worried. The pit in her stomach was bubbling with fear and anxiety, and her fingers grasped anxiously, wanting to pull her sword from its sheath. Betrayer god cults. That wasn’t good. She knew what she’d done, and for whom. And she didn’t want that to happen again. No, she wouldn’t let it happen again. And so she would stay here, at least for now. It was a simple decision for her.

Lucien though, Lucien seemed more conflicted. She’d gotten good at reading him, which was a useful skill. She was all for settling things with a good fight, but there were times when she could see something boiling in Lucien’s eyes she knew had to be averted, or at least postponed. She was much better at controlling herself in that manner, she knew how to get angry in a useful, focused way.  
Lucien just got angry, in a wild eyed, near rabid way. It didn’t really look rabid to the untrained eye, she supposed. But Yasha was the trained eye, and she knew the internal workings of his anger were far wilder and more uncontrollable than hers, and you could see when it was about to happen in his bloody red eyes. And now was one of those times.

“Uh, Lucien.” Yasha began, sitting down uncomfortably on the bed. She wasn’t used to beds, or the lavish interiors. The only things she found comfort in where the clear signs of violence scattering the floors and walls.

Lucien snapped his head around, curls bobbing. “What?”

“You’re getting angry. Don’t get too angry, or they’ll, I don’t know, kill us? I, uh, I want to be here, at least for now. Don’t ruin it.”

Lucien took a deep breath, hands squeezing the hilts of his swords, pacing across the floor in annoyance. “Yes, Yasha, I know. I just, well, the “archmage” and I do not particularly get on.”

“Oh?” Yasha didn’t know that. She didn’t know a lot of things about Lucien and he didn’t know a lot about her, it wasn’t unusual to discover new information about each other. But she hadn’t known he’d had a history with more than one archmage. That felt like an important thing to know.

“Yes. It’s…” he shook his head. “I hate him. And I don’t trust him, not at all.”

“If you ever want me to kill him, just let me know. I mean I don’t want to have to kill him, I want to make this work, but… let me know. Friends do things for friends.”

Lucien nodded slowly. “Are you sure you want to stick around? We could just kill them and run.”

Yasha sighed. “Yes. This is best for me.” He didn’t need to know that she’d been a part of those cults, even if it was against her will, and he didn’t need to know she would do anything to stay away from them. That sounded like fear, and fear was a weakness warlords like her didn’t possess. Or shouldn’t look like they possessed. Yasha was definitely afraid. Oh well, she could probably kill them anyways. She was strong, and with these people around her she was stronger.

”Well even if I’m doing it it doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Lucien grumbled, plopping down on his bed, swords clattering at his sides. “All the people here are assholes.”

”I don’t know, Jester is sort of cute.” Yasha shrugged. She’d found her demeanor a little charming, if sort of off putting.

”True, very true. I can’t believe she’s the Gentleman’s daughter! I don’t know how he managed to make something like that.” He shook his head in disbelief.

”I don’t know.” Yasha didn’t really know what else to say, and so she let the conversation die off into stillness. Lucien didn’t really object to that, which was nice. He was a good friend to have, and she was sure she was one of the only people who’d ever said that about him.

……………

The dining room was grand and imposing, vaulted ceilings done in a dark grain wood and an imposing stone fireplace set into the back wall, the center of the room filled with an over long table surrounded by matching caquetoire chairs. Jester was used to fanciness, but this was too much, it was cold and impersonal and overly grand. But Jester didn’t mind, she knew she could make it hers in no time. And dad wouldn’t mind.

She skipped down the room, dragging her fingers over the chair backs and humming lightly.  
“So Jester, any ideas on how to add a little fun to tonight’s dinner?” Jester turned to see Artagan lounging in one of the chairs, hair poofy as ever and face in his usual puckish grin.

“Arty! Ok I was thinking about it, and I’m not sure I want to do anything tonight.”  
Artagan let out a dramatic sigh and pouted slightly.

“Oh don’t like that. It’s just that I don’t know what kind of pranks I should pull yet. Like sometimes you think somethings gonna be funny and it’s not cause the person doesn’t react, or the person has a hot temper and they try to kill you cause they can’t take a joke, and I don’t mind any of that but I know I’m supposed to not fuck this up for my dad, so I’m gonna wait to see what will take best!” She hopped up onto the edge of the table.

“Clever as always my dear. So we’ll just be observing and see what would be funny tomorrow?”

“Exactly! Hey Arty, do you think the archmage eats cats?”

“Hmmm, I’m not sure. But we could find out.” He grinned, elfin features twisting with mischief.

“Oooh, you have ideas?”

“Just give me a moment.” He winked and disappeared. Jester chuckled and swung her legs, thinking about how to decorate the room while she waited. Colors, more lighting, less weird chairs, more glitter, maybe some dicks, who knows!

As she stared at the high ceilings and imagined what she could hang from them, Jester’s thoughts couldn’t help but drift towards her mama. Dad had promised he’d send people to keep her safe, but she was still worried. What if she died? What would she do if the people sent to her went to her mom instead? Anyone with a little bit of sense knew she was the daughter of the Ruby of the Sea. How else do you get the nickname the Sapphire of Nicodranis?

And what about the other followers of the traveler? She knew she was the only one Arty granted such power to, and she really liked some of her followers quite a bit. She didn’t want them to die. What about her clients? She wasn’t her mama by any means, but plenty of people still came to her regularly. Who else had such exciting stories and wonderful paintings and beautiful piano pieces to entertain with as she? Who could provide exactly what a client needed exactly when they needed it, told them what they needed to hear, pranked them when they needed some lightening up. Who was better at companionship than a Lavorre?

Artagan was back, and Jester quickly shook off her melancholy. None of that was necessary, he liked his favorite priestess to be happy. He was holding a golden brown cat shaped loaf in his long, agile hands, the bread smelling of cinnamon and cloves. Port Damali bread, Jester could tell. “Maybe I have an idea or two about this Archmage.”

“Oh my gosh traveler, are we going to give that to the archmage? That is such a good idea!”

Artagan nodded and was about to continue when his head snapped to the side, pointed ears twitching.  
“Oh, the monk’s coming and she’s such a bore a really can’t stand to be around her.”  
He then turned back, threw the bread to her, winked, and disappeared just as one of the doors opened. Jester quickly tucked the bread into her bag and turned to see who had entered.

The monk girl, Beau, was stalking down the hall quite aggressively, examining her surroundings with something between haughtiness and disgust. “She sort of had shitty taste, Ophelia. Too fucking fancy.”

“Well I like fancy, fancy can be sooo fun, but this too… severe.” Jester waved, swinging her legs.

Beau nodded. “Dinner soon?”

Oh right, dinner. That’s why she’d come down here in the first place, and it was bound to be rough. Beau looked like she knew this too, her face contorted in lines of tension. Oh well, deep breath. Jester would make it work, she was very good at that. Besides, she could mess with them a little and that would certainly be fun.

“Yep!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof, I don’t know how I’m doing writing the characters and this chapter took awhile to get out, but here it is finally! And yes I am using Google translated zemnian, I am sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> No idea what this story will become, but let’s hope it’s good! And I remember I’m writing it!


End file.
